


damn flowers.

by cl3rks



Series: roses as red as your blood and stems like veins, thorny and up to no good. [1]
Category: The Killing
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Sexual References, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmate-Identifying Words, Stevie nickname, Swearing, flower shop, gender specific
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6610141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cl3rks/pseuds/cl3rks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen Holder is your soulmate. Oh joy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	damn flowers.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried SO HARD to make it gender neutral, but I couldn't. Holder is straight as they come, honestly. And I know, I should keep an open mind but him saying "my girl" all the time is the BEST. Sorry if you don't like it?

He didn't like flowers. They were too girly or something like that. Some smelled to weird or gross or sweet, even. He didn't like the sickly sweet smelling ones. 

He hung around that damn flower shop, though. He hung around it and was not at all subtle, and actually looked like a stalker. If he didn't flash his badge and pretend to be asking questions, namely about you, then people would've started worrying.

Actually, they worried more when he showed his badge.

He'd walk in to your shop, take a quick gander – about a minute or two – and then leave. 

The bell over the door would jingle each time. You'd sigh as you arranged flowers, your hands aching slightly from the task. They were cold, too. A little drenched in the water you had spilled on yourself.

He was tall.

Tall, and, from what you could gather, lean. His baggy clothing was difficult to gauge.

He walked in one day and you were just kinda... sick of it. 

_Had there been a murder? Had you done something?_

Mrs. Christakis down the street said that he looked like a drug addict; scuzzy and disgusting.

You smiled a little, handed her the weekly roses she ordered and left. He did, though. You didn't catch his name, however. Everyone would roll their eyes, say it was "Holder" or something. You'd crack a joke and ask them if Holder was holdin' or something.

Nobody found it funny.

Anyway, one day, he walked in and stayed there longer than usual. He actually walked up to the counter and drummed his fingers there until you turned.

"Ah, you're finally purchasing something." He shrugged. You frowned. "Aren't you? You've been coming in here enough without having done so previously."

"I dunno."

"How intelligent." You muttered, turning back around to go put the roses in a display case. 

"Lemme buy those." He said, gesturing to the roses you had in the vase as you walked around the counter. "Aight? And uh, a dozen more?"

"For who, huh?" You questioned, going back to the counter to prepare the roses. "You want a card?"

"Nah." He was trying to be cool, not sweat it. "They're for you, actually. If you would like 'em."

"I'm around flowers all day, buddy."

"Holder." He said quietly, a little humor in his voice. "Stephen Holder. Not buddy."

_Please don't be the guy..._

"Well, Stevie," You started, turning around to place your hands on the counter and look him dead in the eyes as you spoke. "I love flowers, I do. But they're shit, honestly. A last-minute gift, a fixer-upper type one. I mean, I make my money off'a that, but still."

He just watched you.

"Kinda like 'Oh, honey. Forgot your birthday or our anniversary, here, have these flowers. Maybe I can tongue-fuck you later, if you want?'"

"You assume guys just buy 'em?"

"No." You replied. "Did I say that?"

Holder was heavily amused by your brash comment. "So, give yourself the damn flowers."

"I don't _want_ the damn flowers." 

"Take the damn flowers!"

"I don't want the damn flowers!"

"I told ya, you didn't have to take the fucking flowers earlier!" He nearly shouted, watching you. You dropped your head slightly and laughed. "You gonna take 'em?"

"No." You shot back, watching him. 

"Well, fine then. Later, sweetheart."

"Hey, Stephen!" You snapped, walking from behind the counter as he went to the door. "Why do you come in here all the time?"

"To look at you, I don't know." It sounded weird, when he out words to it. "See you. You're great lookin', honestly, ya got a real bangin' bod."

"Oh, fuck you. No, you're him? Fuck no." You said suddenly, watching him as you stepped back to press your mid-back to the counter as you stared, open-mouthed at him. 

"Who?"

You snorted softly and yanked off your apron before pulling up your shirt and slightly pushing your pants down. 

He stepped back and put his hands up, likely to stop you. "Hey, whoa, no."

"No, idiot." You said, pointing at the words. He dropped his hands and looked at them, laughing as he did. 

In his slanted, bold, black, chicken-scratch handwriting were his few words from a few moments ago.

_"You're great lookin', honestly, ya got a real bangin' bod."_

He pulled back his hoodie and jacket, his left index finger pointing at the words over his left collarbone. 

_"Oh, fuck you."_

"This must be you, then." He muttered, laughing a little as he said it. "Hey, got your name on my hip, too."

He edged down his pants only slightly, showing you your name on his left hip. He then showed you the two black scratch like marks on the edge of his jaw. Your marks, the ones you shared, were right there. They were beneath beard hair but whatever.

You showed him his name on the side of your forearm. It wasn't even Stephen, it was Holder. You also showed him the exact same two black scratch marks on the side of your neck, right over your jugular vein.

"I was hoping it wasn't you." You told him honestly. "You told me your name and..."

"Good to know." Holder laughed dryly, shaking his head. "Nice to know my girl's got an attitude, though. No fire in a girl's veins is boring."

"Well, so is a regular lookin' guy. Nice to my guy's got an insomniac, drug addict look to him."

He stuck up dual middle fingers, the long digits making you smile a little.

"From what I gathered, you're a cop who can't help but hang around good looking people." You paused, still holding your clothing up as his hand went to touch your inked skin before you dropped you shirt. ""I can tell Mrs. Christakis you weren't as bad as she thought."

"Who?"

"Nobody."


End file.
